“That’s worse,” Maeve teased. “You’ve fallen for her mind already.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” Debra scoffed. “But she’s remarkable. She helps women see themselves differently. And it’s not a line to get you in there. You canfeelit.”
“It sounds to me like you had a religious experience, Debs.”
It had certainly been an experience. There was no doubt about that. “Something like that.”
“So, when are you seeing her again?”
Debra paused for a second. “Couple of days. We, um…didn’t quite finish the suit fitting. I still need to choose my fabric.”And enjoy whatever else follows, Debra thought to herself. “Judging by the suits on display, she has an eye for detail.”
“Jesus. That soon? What exactly is this woman capable of?”
“Oh, hush!” Debra tutted. “She’s someone thatIbelieve can help me get my mojo back. Or something to that effect, anyway.”
“I’m proud of you, you know.” Maeve’s voice softened. “For going. For doing something for yourself.”
“Thanks, love.”
“Just promise me one thing.”
Debra frowned. “What’s that?”
“That you’ll enjoy it. No guilt and no second-guessing. You’ve earned a little joy.”
Debra cleared her throat. She didn’t know how long visiting Brown & Co. would last, but she would certainly do everything she could to enjoy her time there. “I’ll try.”
After they said goodbye, the apartment fell back into a quiet that Debra was enjoying this evening. She set her phone down and wandered to the window. The streetlights scattered their reflections across the glass, and then she noticed her own reflection as it hovered there…her hair messy and her eyes brighter than they had been for some time.
For the first time in years, she liked what she saw.
She lifted her glass, the wine catching the city’s glow, and thought about her next appointment. She wouldn’t usually do something again so quickly, but she suspected that Billie Brown lived for women falling at her feet. It didn’t matter that she was significantly younger; it didn’t matter that she was a flirt and, in some way, overly confident. What mattered was the way she made Debra feel about herself.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe just fabric and measurements, maybe something far more intimate as Billie had hinted earlier, but as she stood there, her pulse steady…she realised that she was looking forward to finding out.
Because whatever Billie Brown had done to her today, it had shifted something fundamental. She’d walked into Brown & Co. a stranger to herself and walked out a woman who remembered what it meant to be alive.
And tonight, she wasn’t afraid of that feeling anymore.
Billie’s apartmentsat high above the city, a sleek stretch of glass and steel that looked out over the Thames. From here, London looked almost delicate, with its silver threads of traffic and pockets of gold light glinting off the river. She preferred it that way.
Distance.
Control.
Her space was minimalist and immaculate, designed to leave no trace of a life lived, only one maintained. The kind of place that gave nothing away. Polished surfaces and a place built for order. There was no clutter and no softness, just clean light and the faint echo of her own footsteps as she moved from one end of the living room to the other.
It should have been an ordinary evening. A shower, a glass of whiskey, the soft shuffle of a jazz record. She was used to coming home with the knowledge that another client had been seen, satisfied, and forgotten about, but not tonight.
Because Debra Allen wasn’t ordinary…and she couldn’t shake her.
Billie stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, one hand tucked into her pocket. The night sky reflected herself back at her—joggers, tank top, and bare feet, the illusion of stillness. She replayed the afternoon in pieces, as she often did, but this time the fragments refused to fall neatly into place.
She’d been softer with Debra. That much was clear. Softer in her words, in her pace, even in her silences. It hadn’t been deliberate; softness never was with her. She’d spent years cultivating meticulousness, learning where to place her hands and how to move without giving away more than she intended. Her clients came for that certainty.
Most of the women who bookedthe full servicecame in already knowing what they wanted. They were confident, rehearsed, often bored of their own reflection. They treated it as a luxury they were owed. Power traded for pleasure. No oneeverwanted softness. They expected Billie’s hands and her focus. They assumed it was their right. And Billie gave it to them, because that was what they’d paid for. She knew how to give without letting anyone take and that was the difference.
But Debra hadn’t come for power. She’d come for permission.
